


A Dandelion Will Do

by breejah



Category: The Witcher (TV)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Roughness, Unrequited Crush, Unrequited Lust
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-03
Updated: 2020-01-03
Packaged: 2021-02-27 12:14:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,066
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22096954
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/breejah/pseuds/breejah
Summary: Jaskier runs into Geralt after their stormy separation in the quest to slay a green dragon. While his emotions are still tender in regards to the Witcher, he accepts Geralt's invitation to dinner. What happens next rattles him to his core.Rated E for explicit sex.Spoiler Warning:This hints at plot points during the latter half of Season 1 of the Netflix series. Reading may spoil some episodes.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 17
Kudos: 567
Collections: Taboo_January_Writing_Challenge_2020





	A Dandelion Will Do

_If you find yourself worrying, go outside, take three breaths, address a tree and quietly say, 'Thank you.' If you can't find a tree, a dandelion will do... Nature is magic._ \- Robert Bateman

* * *

Jaskier strummed his lute idly, humming a tune that had since turned to monosyllabic chords rather than words the longer he stared at Geralt’s brooding backside. The Witcher had been positively vile the last time they’d seen each other - which had been weeks ago now - and it didn’t seem like whatever chip was still residing on his shoulder had gotten any smaller. In fact, it seemed worse.

It probably had something to do with that sexy sorceress his friend had shagged that one night in Rinde and subsequently became obsessed over ever since, despite giving the outward appearance to everyone that he had no emotions. 

Jaskier snorted, missing a chord, causing a few to stare his way as he schooled his appearance into a friendly smile, turned away from the white-haired man that called him the worst kind of nuisance, and continued on as blithely as he could.

He knew better, of course. Had learned that deep down, Geralt felt things very viscerally for those he felt he owed loyalty to. Once upon a time, he had thought he was also one of those people, when Geralt had risked the wrath of the town and had Yennefer save him, but now -- now he wasn’t sure about anything.

Maybe he was everything Geralt accused him of.

Once again, he realized his fingers lay idle on the lute and he’d lost track of his singing voice. It pissed him off that Geralt’s words still stung all these weeks later, something he usually let roll off his back without consequence, and so he leaned down, grabbing his lute case and setting the instrument inside. _Time to go,_ he thought, _and find another tavern or another town. Don’t want to be accused of following him,_ he thought sourly.

Rising to his feet, he turned and intended to head out the door, when he felt a familiar hard warm hand grip the back of his neck.

“Going so soon?” A familiar monotone rasp said against the skin of his ear, making his stomach burst forth into butterflies. “Not even going to ask me what I’ve been up to for more song material?”

“Nope,” he said, hoping to keep his voice cheery, not quite sure how well he succeeded in that, pivoting in Geralt’s grip and casting him a well-practiced smile before tilting his eyes away, ignoring the golden gleam in Geralt’s own. He couldn’t see disgust or pity there, _he couldn’t_. 

_Why do I even care what this fucking caveman thinks of me?_ He thought bitterly, annoyed at his response to the man at his side. _I don’t like men,_ he chastised himself. But then, Geralt wasn’t really a man anymore, was he? Maybe it was some latent Witcher power he’d had yet to discover, feeling this way about a mutant who hated his very existence. “The tips are lousy here anyways, so I best be going,” he prattled on, praying he sounded as unaffected as Geralt appeared to be in the corner of his eye. “Enjoy dinner, Geralt.”

Just as he was stepping away, Geralt grabbed his elbow - _hard._ Jaskier swallowed, raising his eyes and meeting Geralt’ own once more. He blinked, surprised at the ripple of anger and confusion and hunger he saw warring for dominance on the Witcher’s face.

“Come have an ale with me. I’m leaving in the morning. I’ll even pay for dinner,” He rumbled, his brusque tone plucking every single one of Jaskier’s nerve endings, making him swallow as soon as Geralt let go. Once more, the mask he showed the outside world was in place and Jaskier was confused for a moment if what he’d seen for those few precious seconds had even been real or if he’d imagined it. 

He didn’t _want_ to say yes, not really, not when the man could cut him to the bone with a few well-placed words, but for some reason he found his feet following Geralt’s as he stomped back to where he’d been sitting and pointed to the bench across the small table from him.

Falling into the proffered seat, Jaskier stared, saying nothing. What could he say, anyways? _Nice to see you, still handsome and rude as ever? Where’s your little girlfriend - the scary, dark-haired one? How long do I have until you accuse me of being a freeloading nuisance and tell me to get lost?_

Geralt reached for his ale, briefly glancing at Jaskier, before taking a sip and motioning for another. This town, at least, seemed willing to serve Geralt, and a flash of concern and empathy ripped through him. When they’d journeyed together, sometimes it had taken Jaskier’s sweet talking to get them food and shelter. What had Geralt been doing while he’d been gone? Sleeping in the woods, eating on wild game?

“You’re staring,” Geralt muttered, tipping his head back to finish off his cup, just as a quiet tavern wench came by with two bowls of pottage and a clay pitcher of more ale. Setting them down, she left them before Jaskier came up with a response for what to say, smiling blandly. 

“You’ve gotten more scars, I see,” Jaskier finally commented, pointing to the areas of his own face that reflected new marks of recent healing on Geralt’s own face. Geralt’s lips thinned, so instead of asking what caused the wounds, envisioning Geralt telling him to piss off with his story prodding, instead he pressed a different kind of question. “You doing okay, old friend?”

Geralt blinked, the mask slipping once more as he stared at Jaskier with a perplexed look of confusion and wariness. “Fine,” the man bit out after several seconds, reaching for the wooden spoon given to them in his bowl, beginning to shovel the thick stew into his mouth.

Jaskier smothered his sigh, looking away at the tavern occupants that kept casting them both curious but subdued stares. It seemed they weren’t entirely welcome, but they also weren’t hated either, and well - a free meal and drink was a free meal and drink. Saying nothing else, he reached for his own spoon and cup and began to eat and drink.

Their silence felt just as tension riddled as their conversation, so Jaskier made it a point to eat and drink hurriedly. When he was finished, he wiped his mouth and reached for his lute case again. “Well, as pleasant as it was catching up,” he winked, unable to suppress the need to antagonize Geralt’s horrid social skills, watching the man glower from his side of the table, “I must get going. Have safe journeys, Geralt.”

“Stay,” Geralt grunted, glaring at him in anger. Jaskier blinked, poised to stand and leave, when Geralt’s loaded angry stare made him quickly settle across from him once more. _Did he just...order me to sit? Like a damned dog?_ The very idea made his cheeks flush red with embarrassment, anger, and perhaps a smidge of arousal. _Godsdammit, no._

“I don’t think this is a good idea, Ger--” He started to say, but Geralt’s growl and ‘ _hmph’_ shut him up mid-sentence.

“Keep your pretty ass in that seat, Jaskier, while I procure us a room, or so help me I will hog-tie you to Roach until I say what I need to say,” Geralt growled, in that demon voice of his, and it embarrassed Jaskier even more when he swallowed and felt his body respond to it. _This isn’t happening,_ he swore to himself, glaring back at Geralt but knowing - per usual - it didn’t faze the man in the slightest as he rose and went to the bar. _He’s a total asshole and has the social skills of an ox. I am NOT thinking about his size and the fact that means his cock must be --_

“Let’s go.” 

Jaskier blinked, looking up, realizing he had drifted off as he chanted a mantra of rules to himself while Geralt has procured a room. Gripping his lute case, he did again as he was asked, following Geralt down a hall to a bare wooden door, then following inside once Geralt motioned him in and closed and locked the door behind him.

The room was small and cold, the fireplace unlit, with a narrow bed barely meant for two people, let alone a man the size of Geralt and Jaskier. Upon thinking _that,_ he felt his face go totally red and cleared his throat, hovering by the door, lute case in hand, using it like a shield from both Geralt and the sudden erection he was sporting. _Aaaaand WHY did I think of what we would look like, naked and in that bed? The man’s an ass, straight as an arrow, and hung up on a sorceress that could - and did try - to kill me._

“So, what did you want to say to me?” Jaskier asked, proud of how unaffected his voice sounded. “I figured you can get it over with, seeing as you sharing more than five words in a sentence is a challenge, and I can be on my merry way. You know, the life of a bard never ends…” He chuckled, the noise sounding weak, as Geralt unbuckled his armor and cast it aside, giving Jaskier a narrow-eyed stare.

“I’m sorry,” Geralt finally muttered, a low-timbered growl, grinding the words together as his jaw clenched while he worked out of his weaponry and armor that Jaskier blinked, swearing he misunderstood him.

“Pardon?” He asked, tipping his head to the side. There was no way Geralt apologized - he _never_ apologized. 

“I said I’m fucking sorry, okay? I--Fuck,” Geralt growled again, running a hand through his thick shoulder-length hair. “Set your fucking lute down and help me, this stupid fucking buckle is caught.”

Jaskier pinked further, but Geralt turned again, struggling to undo his sword sheath’s buckles. He was still hard, but it was subsiding under the shock of Geralt’s apology, so he sat the lute case aside and hurried over, rolling his eyes as Geralt’s impatience took over and he nearly started tearing the buckle joint.

“Stop,” he said, exasperated, swatting at his hands and starting to undo it in Geralt’s place. Geralt’s shoulder were rigid and he looked in the opposite direction while Jaskier worked. He couldn’t help but chuckle, shaking his head. “Your armor looks like shit. _You_ look like shit. When was the last time you cleaned this stuff or took a bath? Need me to rub more oil into your bottom for you, eh?”

Jaskier froze, his eyes going wide. _Why_ had he said that - in _that_ voice? That was his flirting voice. There was no way Geralt missed it.

Lowering his eyes, he swallowed when Geralt went even more stiff, saying nothing in response, devoting the next several minutes to helping Geralt get undressed - no doubt he’d ordered a bath - and worked as feverishly as he could to get Geralt unbuckled and to get out of his room. _Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck_ \--

As he had expected, a knock came at the door. Geralt grunted loudly, and a burly man entered with a large wooden tub, followed by two others with buckles of steaming water. Jaskier ignored them as they set up the small area in the room that allowed such things, stepping back once Geralt was as naked as Jaskier could stand him to be in front of others.

Once the men left, he took that as his cue to leave. Turning swiftly, he went to grab his lute and leave, when Geralt once more gripped his shoulder. “Stay,” the Witcher grunted, shedding the rest of his clothes and getting into the tub, reaching for the bar of castile soap. 

“Um…. _why?_ ” Jaskier asked, sitting on the bed, not knowing what to do with his hands. He was flushed, nervous, and had a boner he was struggling to hide. _Why me?_ He asked himself. _Why now? Why was any of this happening?_

Geralt paused, mid-scrub, giving Jaskier a contemplative stare in that testy look he’d honed so well. “It never bothered you before.”

“Yeah, well,” he laughed, mostly at himself for allowing himself to get into this situation, not looking at the naked handsome Witcher in the tub, “That was before…” He trailed off, not saying what was on his mind. _Before I found you hot and wondered what it would feel like to have your cock in me._

Geralt grew agitated, if the sloshing water were any indication of how roughly he was scrubbing himself. “I said I was sorry,” he muttered, as if that solved Jaskier’s little dilemma.

“I know, I know,” Jaskier waved a hand, trying to look unconcerned. He still wouldn’t look Geralt’s way. “But things are weird now, so perhaps I should go. You said your apology and I forgive you. That’s what you wanted to say, yeah?”

He could feel Geralt’s stare on him like a brand, making him squirm but still refusing to look his way. _Can he tell? Gods almighty, what if he can see my erection? Fuck, I need to get out of here._

He stood, intending to head for the door, when Geralt’s growl made him freeze up. “Look at me, dammit,” Geralt barked, ordering him to turn and glance his way. Despite not wanting to, feeling the impending humiliation creeping up his spine, when Geralt said things like _that,_ he couldn’t disobey.

Slowly, he turned, staring at Geralt, who was staring at him - _all of him_ \- including his badly hidden erection.

“Hmm,” was all Geralt said, slowing his scrubbing to stare pointedly at his groin. 

Jaskier blinked. That was _it?_ That was all he had to say? A fucking _grunt?_ Suddenly, he was mad as hell. _Fuck him!_

Without thinking, he launched himself in the bath, fully clothed, reaching up to slap the blank stare off Geralt’s face. Of course, Geralt was faster, gripping his wrists before he could get within an inch of his face, Jaskier panting loudly, fury and embarrassment and arousal scorching his insides. Geralt’s face was transformed into something Jaskier had never seen pointed at him - anger, annoyance, and lust. Blinking, still mad, sputtering for words to say, he couldn’t wrap his brain around it when Geralt hauled him up against his wet chest and _kissed_ him.

It wasn’t a gentle kiss - it was a taking, his lips, tongue and teeth nearly bruising with how furiously they worked against his own lips. Vaguely, Jaskier realized the hardness grinding into his belly wasn’t a fallen bar of soap but the Witcher himself, hard and pulsing against his wet shirt.

“F-Fuck,” he whispered, once Geralt’s mouth moved down, sucking bruised bites into the tender skin of his neck. Was this really happening?

Geralt didn’t waste time taking his clothes off, shoving the sopping garments over the edge of the tub. Jaskier blinked, groaning, when Geralt prepped him roughly with water and oil and pressed inside him. It hurt, he hadn’t been nearly ready enough, but the burn eased into pain when Geralt held him in place and didn’t move. His own cock _ached,_ desperate to cum, but Geralt seemed to have other plans.

“You are so fucking annoying,” Geralt bit out, his tone sounding like garbled glass, gripping Jaskier’s hips so hard there would most likely be bruises in the morning, still mouthing his neck. “So fucking annoying,” Geralt repeated, less harshly this time - if Jaskier didn’t know better, it sounded almost tender, coming from Geralt.

Just like that, Geralt began to thrust up - well, more like he moved Jaskier’s hips along with his own. Each thrust jarred his spine, rubbed his prostate, and made Jaskier’s legs turn to jelly. He wanted to come _so bad._ The moans that slipped from him would normally embarrass him, but he was too far gone, too turned on to do anything but beg. 

“Please,” he gasped, as Geralt pounded, making Jaskier cling to his shoulders as Geralt used him - over and over and over - until he was a sobbing wreck. “ _I need to come. Please let me come. Fuck, Geralt, I need to come._ **_Please._ ** _”_

“ **_No,_ **” Geralt hissed, still fucking him, reaching up with one large hand and pinching one of Jaskier’s nipples. They never used to affect him, but now it felt like they were connected by a cord, straight to his cock. He whimpered, trying his best not to let out a mewling moan of begging, worried and yet uncaring who heard them down the hall. By Geralt’s movements, they weren’t exactly being subtle about what was going on in here. Geralt, it seemed, looked possessed - furious and yet wanting him. Jaskier wasn’t sure how he felt about that, but his body knew exactly what it wanted. It wanted to come on Geralt’s cock and send him over the edge, too.

“Please, Geralt. _Please. Fucking_ **_please!_ ** _”_ He finally screamed, reduced to a sobbing, uncontrolled mess. He never acted like this - but then he’d never fucked a man, despite letting women peg him and having fucked them anally in turn. This was something entirely new to him and he wasn’t sure he liked it, knowing Geralt’s obsession with the woman Yennefer. _“Fucking PLEASE Geralt!”_ He screamed again, slapping at Geralt’s face. _Don’t make me beg more, don’t make me_ **_care_ ** _more._

Finally, Geralt reached down and grasped Jaskier’s cock, working him furiously as he fucked him hard and fast. It was too much and yet not enough, but when Geralt barked out “Now!” in a hard, raspy bellow, he came undone, coming so hard he nearly blacked out.

It took him several moments to realize he was no longer in the bath, cuddled next to Geralt in the bed - the same bed he thought would be too small, but it turned out it wasn’t, as long as he laid nearly on top of the large, broad-shouldered Witcher.

“Go to sleep,” Geralt muttered into his hair, running his fingers through it. Jaskier smiled, closing his eyes. He knew better than to ask for anything, but this - right now - was fine. He’d think of the consequences of what happened in the morning.

Sleep was fast and all consuming, blotting out the world, and he snuggled closer as he crashed into a dreamless sleep.


End file.
